Within Limits
by Yahong
Summary: In which I ruthlessly spin Careese/Everybody-Loves Carter fluff out of single canon sentences. THAT'S IT, THAT'S THE FIC. 1: "Is there another agency following you that I'm not aware of?" 2: "Have you ever smoked marijuana?" 3: "Lot of fine girls out today."
1. Is there another agency following you?

**A/N** : Detective Molina is from S01E03 "Mission Creep"; this line is from S01E12 "Legacy" and the fic takes place around the same time.

* * *

 _"Is there another agency following you that I'm not aware of?"_

"What do you think?" Joss said. "You've got an entire NYPD task force looking for you. I'm just waiting for the next dozen to show up on my tail. Now, if you wouldn't mind getting back to the topic at hand. If I'm getting into this, I need to know more."

* * *

Joss wasn't counting the days, but it hadn't even been two before the man gave her a first name.

It was both a more generous offer than she'd expected and not useful at all, which was becoming common to all their interactions. Well, all their non-work interactions. Getting gift-wrapped (in one case, literally) perps on their doorstep was useful, she had to admit. He and his mysterious benefactor were going to put her CIs out of business.

Anyway, his name was John; she was still waiting on a name for the benefactor. Guess a Doe name was better than calling him "the man in her suit" in her head.

Also, he was tailing her.

Not regularly—at least, she hoped not. But on occasional runs for lunch, or on her way out for the day, she'd catch a glimpse of gray atop black and white. She could only pray (and run a couple red lights every few days) that he wasn't following her home. She had half a mind to confront him about it one day and say "Ever think about wearing a hat?", but the next week, all her attention was pulled into a complicated case that landed on her desk.

It was Robberies that brought it in: what looked like a standard B&E-gone-south, except the thief had been found and their DNA didn't match the skin cells left on the victim's throat, so Homicide was now fully involved in the case.

Molina was heading it. She knew he'd stay onboard with Homicide until they'd caught their man, which she appreciated about him. "Thing is," he said, handing the file to her, "I got the DNA run through the system already so you'd have it ready to go—and it hit a match."

"So, we got our guy?" Joss flipped open the file. A print-out from CODIS, Molina's report and his notes from the scene, lists of evidence, several photos.

She frowned at a few. "These are two different crime scenes."

"Yeah, that's what I was getting to. Thing is," he repeated, "the match was to another homicide that happened two days ago, not to any suspect in the system." He crowded in to peer over her shoulder and tap the second set of photos. "And we haven't caught this one yet."

"Who's on that case?"

"Your partner. Fusco." He nodded to the desk touching hers.

"So why bring it to me?" she asked, though she had a good idea. Molina was one of the few in his division who'd rather work with a black female detective than a white male one.

"You don't want to jump on?" He pulled back to look at her with a small smile.

"Well, since you asked." She promptly tugged the file free of his hands and sat down at her desk. "This all you have?"

"I'll get you the rest of the details our unis collected, and the thief's contact info."

"And I'll get Fusco to give up what he's got so far on Saturday's homicide."

"Sounds good," Molina said, earnestly serious. He gave her a nod, then headed off to the captain's office.

Joss pushed the rest of the papers on her desk aside and fanned out the documents from Molina's file. Two murders in three days. Another one and they'd have a full-blown spree killer on their hands. Preventing the next murder instead of solving it after the fact was definitely the goal here.

* * *

"Okay, what about medical history," Joss said.

"Been searching through the hospital records we got, but nothing so far," Fusco said around a mouthful of sub. "Plus both had hardly any family-I'm starting to think that the only connection between these two victims is estranged relatives."

Spree-killers didn't go around looking for lonely people to strangle. Joss pushed back from her desk and stood up, holding in her frustration. "I'm gonna get lunch," she said to the butt end of Fusco's sandwich, which was all she could see of his face right then. "Maybe call up Molina and see if he's made any progress with that sketch." She swept a few case files into her bag and strode out of the precinct before Fusco could offer any more unhelpful observations.

The nearby park attracted a variety of food trucks, and Joss stepped in line for her usual one as the case details ran through her mind. Every hour passing meant one less hour before the perp struck next. She didn't hear her name being called until someone tapped on her shoulder from behind, which made her start.

"Carter," Molina greeted her, one brow lifted over his smile. "How you doing?"

"Molina," she said with a quick nod, calming her heartrate. "Good, still looking for connections between our two vics. I was just gonna call you about the sketch from the thief, actually-what're you doing out this way?"

"Then that's great timing, 'cause I was coming to see you." He opened his briefcase. "We got the sketch, and our officers found a suspect."

He paused, and Joss eyed him. "There's a catch, isn't there."

"The woman who matched?" His smile turned into a wry grimace as he handed her a file. "She's in a coma, at New York-Presbyterian."

In the middle of opening the file, Joss halted, blinked, processed that. "Then it's got to be someone else."

"Yeah, I got the officers back out and looking. Just wanted to let you know." Molina closed his briefcase and shrugged, apologetically. "Wish I had better news for you."

"Yeah. That's okay." She scanned the sketch before replacing it in the file. "It's better than nothing."

"Right." But he still had that rueful look on his face.

Joss considered him and his earnestness. "Well, since you're here and all, let me buy you lunch," she offered.

His turn to startle. "Oh, you don't have to do that-"

But they were already at the front of the line, and Joss simply turned and began rattling off her order. "And he'll have-what'll you have?" she asked him.

"Nothing," he said swiftly.

Too bad for him, they only served one specialty item so he wasn't getting a choice anyway. "He'll have the same," she said to the cashier, and handed over thirty dollars before Molina could stop her.

 _"Carter."_

"You came all the way out here, you need to try the lobster rolls," she told him, and smiled with enough steel that he subsided, leaving only his flushed ears to protest.

She wasn't trying to be manipulative. But she did like to think ahead, and maybe treating Molina would get him to get her what she might need for this case, or for cases involving Robberies in the future. After all, she hadn't made it this far by relying on mystery men in suits to do her job for her.

* * *

Three hour later, she was in her car, sitting sideways on the driver's seat, dragging Molina's unconscious form into the passenger side in the fading daylight while her gun dug a new bruise into her hip.

"If you think this is _helping_ people," she said through gritted teeth to John, who was on the other side of Molina's form, pushing him in, "I'm not so sure I trust your information after all."

"I'm not acting on our information," he said reservedly. With a final unceremonious shove, he stuffed Molina's feet in. The unconscious detective swayed limpy; Joss braced her weight to keep him from collapsing on her. He'd barely grazed her before John yanked him upright and buckled him into immobility.

"Then tell me how in the hell you came to the conclusion that Molina is a plant from a federal agency here to spy on me." Her vocal chords were getting raspy from straining so much to keep in her burning urge to yell at him. They looked odd enough, parked next to an alley with both front doors open, and she did not want to draw any more attention.

John stared at her across the space of the front seats, then abruptly withdrew and shut the door on Molina, whose head lolled with the impact.

With a huff, Joss worked herself out of the car as well and stood. He was looking at her over the roof of the car, mouth pressed thin.

She planted a hand against the doorframe and looked right back at him. "Well? How, John?"

His eyelashes fluttered down, breaking his gaze, but only momentarily. "Molina's with the eleventh precinct," he said, making eye contact again. "He doesn't need to come all the way out here to work a robbery-homicide with you."

"Actually, his case is connected to a homicide Fusco's working, so-"

"Then why you?"

Jesus Christ. "Maybe he got sick of working with a white guy." She gave him a pointed once-over.

He made a moue. "Don't be hurtful, Detective."

"I wish," she muttered.

"No, you don't."

Okay, she didn't really. "Then how about you run along with your vigilante act now?" She tapped her unmarked police vehicle. "Before I'm forced to arrest you."

John started around the hood of the car toward her. "How did Molina find you in that food truck line?"

"Ever think about wearing a hat?" she shot back, turning to face him.

He didn't even try to deny following her. "Have you made any other tails?" he asked, seemingly serious.

"John," she said. "There are no other tails."

He looked at her.

"Look, I appreciate your concern-" However badly misplaced it was. "-but Molina came around to work the case with me, all right? Snow and his CIA folks haven't talked to me in a week, and I'm trying to do my job here. And that's kind of hard to do with you leaping from the shadows and knocking my partners out cold." She fought to keep her voice from rising.

But the man had literally jumped out in front of Joss and Molina as they were turning the corner, dragged him back into an alley and thrown an uppercut to the jaw. She'd gotten her service pistol up and aimed, but as soon as Molina was unconscious, John had stilled and faced her, lifting both hands palm up in a gesture of appeasement. A ridiculous stance, since he'd been supporting a fainted man with his elbows. "Don't shoot," he'd said. Instead, Joss had shouted for a solid ten seconds before she'd gotten herself back together.

He said now: "You told me there were more agencies-"

"Oh my God," Joss said, drawing out each syllable. "Is that what this is about?"

He snapped his mouth shut, then opened it again. "There's no way to be sure-"

"Did you really think I was serious?"

That closed his mouth for a fraction longer. "Precautionary measure," was the next thing he came up with. "For your own safety, Detective."

"So you didn't," Joss said, leaning against her car. "You just needed an excuse to tail me." She glanced at Molina in her passenger seat. "The vigilante lifestyle doesn't serve you up enough criminals to fight?"

He leaned in, a short, curt movement. "You shouldn't be spending too much time with anyone from law enforcement right now," he said, eyes serious.

She deflated with a sigh. He truly believed she was in possible danger, she could see. "Well, joke's on you," she said without much heat, "because now I'm stuck here with Molina until he wakes up and asks me exactly how he got into my car."

"I'll watch him," John said immediately. "You go home."

Joss snorted. "You are a wanted man, John." She pushed off the car and made to open the door.

In the next moment, his hand was over hers, keeping it pinned over the handle. And he was in her space, gazing down at her.

"Don't," he said, softly.

"Don't what?" She peered up at him, wondering what exactly he was seeing that she didn't, that could cause that subtle note of urgency in his tone. "What is it?"

For a second he was silent. Finally: "I wasn't sure if you were serious," he said, even more softly, evenly. He looked down, considered their hands.

She regarded him. Then she let out her breath. "I'll clarify next time, okay?" A peace offering. If refraining from making sarcastic jokes soothed his paranoia about the law coming down on himself and now her, she could respect that. Within limits.

"Okay." He met her gaze again. His hand curled around hers.

She glanced down at it. Then tugged. He didn't let go.

She looked back up at him, lifting a brow.

"I'll watch Molina," he said, in lieu of an answer to her questioning look.

"No, you won't." Joss tugged once more before stopping; she refused to wrestle futilely against his greater strength. "He's not CIA, he's a good friend. He's been on the force for years."

"Why do good friends have to bribe each other with lobster rolls?" he asked, instead of questioning her faulty logic as she'd expected.

"Right, we still haven't talked about all this following me around you've been doing."

"I'll wear a hat if you want me to."

"I don't."

That made him smile, for some reason.

"So," she said, both eyebrows now raised, "are you going to let me go so I can do my job?"

He let their hands fall between them, still linked. "I don't think your job is babysitting grown men."

"Well, now it is, thanks to you." She pulled again, and this time he let her go.

"I'm sorry," he said, charmingly. "I'll do it for you instead."

 _God._ Joss couldn't help the half-chuckle that slipped out at his over-the-top winning expression. "Look. Why don't you tell me what you're worried about and I can address it for you? You know, communication. Like adults."

John tilted his head as he considered it. His weight shifted forward more firmly against her car door. "I," he said, measuring out his words, "don't want you to stay here to take care of Molina when he wakes up."

"And that's because..."

He shifted his weight again, and Joss eyeballed the space between them.

"Because?" she prompted again, leaning back.

He didn't say anything. Which she took to mean _No valid reason, just macho overprotective white man hero complex stuff, please let me take over your car and intimidate your colleague._

But she really didn't want to be in this stalemate any longer. For one thing, she needed to be home by six to make sure Taylor made his curfew. For another, if Molina woke up and John was still here all tetchy and paranoid, she would have a new load of trouble on her hands.

"Okay, John. Buy a hat, keep it down low over your face and you can sit in the backseat, all right? If he asks about you, you're one of my CIs. We'll wait for him to wake up together."

John considered. Then he straightened, out of her space; a faint smile touched his lips. "I thought you didn't want me to wear a hat."

"Yeah, well, looks like I want you to get arrested less."

"I'm touched, Detective."

"Don't be."

* * *

"...What are you doing?"

"What does it look like? Keeping his airway open." Keeping Molina's head tilted at the right angle against the headrest was hard; she thought about asking John to lower the seat back, but then reconsidered. He was already-not fidgeting, but edging closer and closer off his seat toward them, his body all angles and tension.

"Back off, John, I'm checking his circulation, not kissing him."

That seemed to finally get through to him; he froze.

She pressed a hand to his chest and glanced at the time. If Molina didn't wake in a minute, she was taking him to the hospital, and John's benefactor was footing the bill.

Abruptly, her hand was no longer resting on Molina. She whipped her head around to see the passenger seat plunge downward and to see Molina bounce to a rest against the now-fully reclined seat back. Joss looked up at John in incredulity, who looked unrepentantly back at her. He had one hand on the seat adjustment lever, the other pinning the poor detective by the shoulder to the seat as though he might spring up in his unconscious state and embrace Joss.

"Are you _trying_ to cause him more brain damage-?!"

"I'm just helping you keep his airway open-"

It was unfortunately at this point that Molina finally awoke.

* * *

 **A/N** : Sooo this is deep fluff & semi-crack (mixed with my attempt at serious case!fic... a case which I totally 100% lifted from _Elementary_ S01E02 "While You Were Sleeping"... I hope the cutting between scenes isn't too whiplash-y), it was very fun to write LOL. ...Also I think it's dangerous for a person to be unconscious for longer than two minutes, but in the PoI universe they seem to go much longer and still end up okay, so? I have some flexibility right? (Sorry, Molina!)


	2. Have you ever smoked marijuana?

_"Have you ever smoked marijuana before?"_ From and around the same time as S02E15 "Booked Solid".

* * *

"We should talk about the fact that you've never smoked weed before."

Joss didn't need to turn around to know that John was coming toward her with that look on his face. She'd thought she was light years away from college and all its peer pressures, and here was her own personal stupid-and-handsome, bringing it up once again.

With a suppressed sigh, she crossed her arms and gave him a stare that rightfully slowed his approach. "If you talk about consuming, selling or purchasing cannabis in my presence, I'm gonna have to arrest you."

A smirk played at the corner of his mouth in response. "Even Finch's gotten high before." John threw a glance toward Harold's computer desk, and received an eloquently indignant look from Harold in return.

"I was coercively given ecstasy by an identity-stealing woman running a drug empire!" he specified. "I did not 'get high'; I was... begotten high."

Shaw snorted into Bear's fur from her splayed position on the floor next to Bear's bed.

Joss furrowed her brow. "How did you get ecstasy from a drug lord?" she said. She switched her gaze back to John. "Don't tell me you've been sending him out into the field as your back-up."

"Are you doubting his capabilities?" John asked, taking one more step forward to lean in over her.

"I assure you I can handle myself, Detective." Harold recovered some of his composure. "There's no need to worry about me."

"See, I don't worry about you." Joss turned away from John and walked to Harold. She stopped next to his desk, flicked through some old photos that their computer had no doubt spat out. "I worry about you dealing with the messes that John likes to leave around him." She lifted the photo of an old mafia don and flipped it to face him.

"I take care of Harold," John said, mock affront in his tone as he moved after her with a slow, casually even gait.

"I take care of myself," Harold said firmly. Then, as an afterthought, "And Mr. Reese."

"Shaw's got our back too. Right, Shaw?" John brought Bear to his feet and away from his bed with a click of his tongue.

Shaw threw him a murderous look, then glanced round to Joss and Harold. "I would've let Harold get high. Kinda disappointed I missed seeing that."

"Ms. Shaw!" Harold said indignantly.

"You can always ask Fusco," John said, "he got firsthand experience too."

Maybe she would. "That might get him to stop moping around about missing my birthday," Joss said. Make him feel in the know. For a cop made three-quarters out of sarcasm, Fusco had weird sensitive spots.

"Missing your birthday?" John repeated, brows rising.

Shaw snickered. "Looks like you forgot someone on your get-everyone-to-get-Carter-a-present tour."

"I thought partners shared everything with each other," he said, volume rising.

"So why don't you apply to the eighth precinct?" Shaw responded with a smirk. John threw her a shut up look; his attention diverted, she used the chance to whistle Bear back to her side and then reclined once more on his length, radiating smugness.

"By the way," Joss said to her, rounding the computer desk to perch on its other end near Shaw, "what's this about you checking in on Fusco's boy?"

Shaw's recline didn't last a second once Joss was in her vicinity. Back abruptly ramrod straight, face upturned, she gave Joss an eager smile. "You discussed me with him?"

Joss chuckled. "Sure. But only because he wants you to stop watching over Lee."

"Yes," Harold spoke up, "I would like to put a halt to our monitoring of Lee Fusco, Ms. Shaw. Preferably sooner rather than later."

"You're the boss," Shaw said without even glancing at him. "How did I—how did that come up in conversation, though?" she asked Joss, eyes wide.

"Oh, apparently you told him about the surprise party at my place—"

John inserted: "I know you don't like surprises, Detective, that's why I came by to give you a heads up." And a cake.

Both Shaw and Joss ignored him. "And he got mad I didn't invite him. Like I can control all y'all's urges to throw surprise parties." Joss rolled her eyes. "Next time he's pissed off about being left out of your bright birthday party ideas, y'all can deal with him, hmkay?"

"Sure, yeah," Shaw said, not quite breathlessly.

Simultaneously John said, "I'll take care of him for you, Carter."

Shaw swapped her starry-eyed look for a laser beam glare directed at him. "I've got a direct line to his kid. That's all the persuasion he'll need."

"I know how Fusco works," John countered. "Leave him to me."

"Ms. Shaw," said Harold, "I really don't think you should be so cavalierly using a minor's contact information in such a way-"

"Hey. Guys. I'm not asking you to off him," Joss began, to no avail.

"I'm technically dead. Better to fill in as partner than you," Shaw was saying to John, "'specially since you still look like the man in the suit, despite your hairline-"

"You wouldn't last a day in a police station, Shaw."

"And you would, Mr. Bleeding Heart? When was the last time you went undercover for longer than a week?" Shaw paused from her back-and-forth with John to confide in Joss: "I actually worked a month as civilian administrator up in the ninety-ninth precinct."

"Under what alias?" Harold asked in alarm, beginning to type furiously. "As I've told you all, it's vital that you provide me with all covers used in the past so we can track them and ensure no overlap from your previous identities and your current one..."

"Hey, I'm not asking you to off him and then _replace_ him, either," Joss said, louder.

"A civilian administrator?" John snorted.

Joss gave up on interceding and decided to stop them one by one. "Okay, but John, you would make a terrible detective."

He pulled up short and looked round at her. His brows drew together as his lower lip pushed out ever so slightly.

"I'm just telling the truth," Joss said, amused despite herself. "Shaw-"

"Yeah?" Shaw's entire demeanour switched cleanly from hostile to agog.

"You aren't annoying Lee, are you? Because I know how alarming it can be to have dangerous folks on the wrong side of the law in touch with your kid."

"Right, 'course." Shaw nodded several times. "I mean, it's kind of hard for me to tell what the kid's feeling. But he calls me Rockstar Sam? That's acceptable, right?" she appealed.

"Rockstar Sam?" Joss shook her head and huffed a laugh. "Yeah, I think that's acceptable."

A smile spread instantly across Shaw's face, even as she visibly tried to stop it. After wrestling with her face for a moment, she gave in, ducked her head and beamed at her lap.

"Ms. Shaw," Harold tried again, "if you wouldn't mind telling me what cover the NSA created for you at the ninety-ninth precinct-"

"We're not on the wrong side of the law," said John, his voice suddenly right beside her; he'd finished slowly slinking his way from the other end of the computer room to their side of the desk. "We're on your side of the law." He eased himself onto the table beside Joss, body open and angled toward her. "Aren't we?" He tipped his head just the slightest.

She leaned in toward him, and he tilted toward her inexorably, near-helplessly, in anticipatory response.

"Not if you try and sell me cannabis again," she replied, and smiled sweetly.

* * *

 **A/N** :Hot damn it took me so long to track down the episode this is from (S02E15 "Booked Solid")!  
"Stupid-and-handsome" is courtesy of notbecauseofvictories . tumblr post/130300738551. The birthday reference is to my first PoI fic, "Get A Knife".


	3. Lot of fine girls out today

_"Oh, sorry, detective. I didn't realize that was you from behind. Lot of fine girls out today."_

* * *

Looking back, Joss could see the brazen hint for what it was. She hoped Hector Alvarez thought she'd found him out thanks to that catcall and comment. Served him right.

In the days leading up to Hector's arrest, the trail of his henchmen that appeared in the ninth precinct's bullpen kept her on the edge, sure he was sacrificing them for some larger purpose. But according to Fusco, post-arrest Hector had railed angrily about the loss of his men. Now, in hindsight, she had a sinking feeling that the reason they'd all landed in cuffs at her doorstep was the same reason Hector's main garage had been blasted apart with a grenade a day after she visited it.

That reason was currently watching her from across her regular coffee place. And Joss was pretty sure the plastic cup of smoothie held in front of John's face was just his excuse to sit there rather than an attempt to be discreet.

She glanced once, twice—still watching her. _All right, that's how it is_. She turned resolutely back to the barista, a white boy who regularly used the customers to try out his pick-up lines. In response to the barista's wink and smile, the briefcase-carrying man in front of her reared back askance, grabbed his coffee and basically ran away. Joss chuckled inside at the look on his face.

"Joss?" The barista met her eyes and started his slow-smile-and-dance routine once more. "Jocelyn? Jocinda?"

"Just Joss is fine," she said, and reached for her cup.

"Okay, Just Joss, just let me know how the coffee is." He handed it to her; she closed her fingers around it, but he didn't let go. "Always trying to improve."

"Sure." Joss pulled back harder. He held on for one more second before letting go.

"My name's Dave," said the little shit, and beamed.

"Oh, hey," she said, "that's my son's name." Smirking at his instant dismay, she sailed off.

Unfortunately, as she turned away, her eyes crossed paths with John's. Around the now-empty cup, his fingers twitched in her direction: _come here_.

She wasn't going to be petty and pretend she hadn't seen him. (At least, not today.) Taking her time, Joss wove her way through the tables and arrived at John's table. He gently nudged the chair opposite him with a foot and kept his stare on her. _Sit_.

She sat. "So."

"We've got a case nearby," he said smoothly.

So he was starting to anticipate her questions. She wasn't sure how to feel about the fact that their interactions were getting predictable.

Maybe it was time to stop engaging. "This is my coffee break. Don't talk to me."

"Okay," he agreed immediately, and leaned back from the at-attention posture he'd developed as soon as she'd sat down.

Joss pivoted her chair a few degrees away from his direction and lifted her coffee. After two sips, she frowned at it. Why did it feel off?

…Because the barista had given her a medium instead of a small, that was why.

Grimacing, Joss set the cup down hard on the table and glared at it. Then she picked it up again. Not going to let extra coffee go to waste, even if she did feel annoyed by its intentions. Besides, Dave was probably regretting the upgrade, what with finding out she was a mom and all.

"Something wrong?" Her shadow spoke up.

 _Yeah. Shadows aren't supposed to talk_. "No. Nothing." Resolutely she put the coffee to her mouth again without sparing him a glance.

There he went in her peripheral vision, closing his body angle in toward her bit by bit. "Was the barista bothering you, Joss?"

She nearly groaned aloud. "He was bothering everyone."

Oh, that was not the right answer. She could almost hear the gears grinding in his head: _'Everyone' includes Joss, so since I want to recruit her as the corrupt cop to my vigilante act, I must defend her honour. Because that's obviously the best way to appease a female cop._

Swiftly she added, "But soon as I mentioned my son…" She waved a hand as airily as she could, and leaned back hard in her chair as though if she did so with enough emphasis, it might make him do the same.

Miraculously, it worked. John relaxed from the gopher pose he'd been edging toward. "So why the black coffee today, Detective?"

She noted the address change. "What about it?" she said, and took an extra-long sip.

"I just thought you preferred your coffee sweeter." He tilted his head.

"Yeah, you know, I might need something sweeter—or stronger—after finding out that you managed to suss out my taste in coffee."

John's head tilted further. She didn't fill in the silence, just kept working at her coffee. There were only ten minutes left in her break, and Molina was waiting on a report from her.

Eventually he filled the space: "I thought we were friends."

Lord, what a terrible line. "You're worse than Dave," she scoffed into her coffee.

"Dave?"

Time for a change of topic. "Tell me something," she said, "was it you who sent all those goons to my desk this past week?"

He blinked, visibly rerouting. "Goons?"

She would've expected a silent smirk and know-it-all eyebrow lift. "Well, thanks anyways."

"Who—" His eyebrows dived. "Alvarez's men?"

"Yeah, who else?" She drank more of her coffee and observed his expression. "Now why do you look so put-out?"

There was a sharp crack. The empty plastic cup in his hand, which was white (well, more white than usual) with tension, was now split halfway open.

Joss paused. Looked at it.

Then she looked back up at him. "Something wrong?" she said, repeating his words back at him.

He didn't say no. He didn't say anything, just regarded the cracked cup in his hand for a moment before letting it fall to the table.

"John."

His eyelids flickered up to meet her gaze. "What did Alvarez say to you that day?"

"What? What day?" Now she was the one rerouting.

"The day—" He paused, pressed his lips together. "The day you went to speak with the bodega owner."

She thought back. "Oh. He said—actually, that was the first clue he dropped. He was so cocky back then…" She paused a moment to savour the satisfaction of his arrest. "By the way, are you _always_ following me?"

"What did he say?" John asked again, words carefully spaced out. "After he whistled at you. What was it?"

"Something about 'lotta fine girls round here'. Reference to his side piece, obviously."

With a screeching scrape, John abruptly shoved his chair back and stood in one sharp movement.

Joss put down her coffee and squinted at him. "All right, what is it now?"

"I'm going to get you a latte," he said, more tersely than that particular phrase had ever been said, and strode off toward the counter.

Making sure her jaw was closed, she stared after him for a few beats. Then she turned and saw the poor person who'd had the misfortune of sitting behind John, now wedged firmly in between their chair and their table.

"Oh my God, I am so sorry." She leaped out of her chair and rushed over to help their tablemate in unwedging them.

* * *

Five minutes later, the medium black had been pushed aside in favour of the latte Joss was now nursing. John was back in his chair, which Joss had moved to the side so that there were no other chairs directly behind him.

She stared at him as she sipped. "Did you pay for this?"

"Why do you ask?" He cocked his head innocently.

Because at the cash, he'd waved Dave over for an exchange of words. Next, the barista had, in order: jerked back, crossed his arms, leaned forward, pointed a finger, hastily dropped his arms and, finally, stepped very far back before scurrying off to the coffee machines. He'd then carried back the cup Joss was currently drinking from straight to John, who had subsequently returned to their table without handing over a penny.

"You know what, I don't want to know." Joss sunk back into the obliviously sweet depths of her latte.

"Is it good?" he asked, archly.

"Yeah," she said, and struggled for a moment to decide whether to thank him or not. No, it was basically stolen coffee.

…But she didn't mind ripping off Dave some. Sorry to all his fellow employees.

"Really good," she decided, and drank some more.

And there was the small, pleased smirk on his face. He sat back, relaxed, now taking up the entire chair with one foot crossed over the other knee.

When he seemed to be content to just sit there and watch her drink her coffee, she quirked a brow. "Don't you have to get back to your case?"

"I've got time," he said, comfortably ambiguous, and didn't move a muscle.

"Is that so." She tapped her fingers against her cup and contemplated the air over his head. "Well, I'm kind of craving a doughnut. Boston cream."

She lowered her gaze to his, and his smirk grew into a small smile. "Of course," he said, with a tone of politesse, and stood up to make his way back to the counter.

* * *

"…I shouldn't have done this," Joss mumbled half-heartedly around a mouthful of sweet doughnut. She swallowed and licked her lips for remnants of cream. _Bliss_.

"But you didn't," John said. His cracked plastic cup was gone, as was her cup of black coffee; there was nothing else in front of him. He hadn't gotten anything for himself, had just sat there and watched her eat. "I did."

"That's true," she said, nodding to herself. "True."

And she allowed herself this, a small moment of not upholding the law, a beat of time as something other than a pillar of justice. An instant to break outside the rules.

John leaned in, drawing her attention back to him. "That's why you have me," he said, seriously.

Joss had thought from the beginning that _he_ had _her_ , that he sought her out for her usefulness to him, that this was how their relationship worked in his vigilante-hero universe.

She rather liked it the other way around.


End file.
